


The Wrong Soulmate

by Wonko



Category: Holby City
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/F, Idiots in Love, RedVines Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:21:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23733763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wonko/pseuds/Wonko
Summary: Serena Campbell has always known that all this soulmate stuff is overhyped nonsense. Just romantic twaddle, fodder for romance novels and dating apps that promise to take the pain out of finding your soulmate. The names on people's skin? The name on hers? Nothing to turn one's life upside down for.Serena Campbell is about to find out she's an idiot.
Relationships: Serena Campbell/Bernie Wolfe
Comments: 20
Kudos: 111
Collections: Redvines Day





	The Wrong Soulmate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fortytworedvines](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortytworedvines/gifts).



> For Redvines, on this international day of Redvines appreciation. It is a reflection of the great esteem in which I hold you, dear Redvines, that I did not write this fic today.
> 
> I wrote it _yesterday_.

_“I suppose I just thought I’d never find him. I mean, how many girls are there with John on their skin somewhere?”_

_“Probably as many as there are boys with Rachel on theirs.”_

_A gentle laugh. “Fair point.”_

_“But that’s what’s so wonderful about Soulmate Search. They take all the pain out of the hunt for your soulmate. They set you up with matches, arrange the meetings…”_

_“And when you find them…” A dreamy smile. “Well. It’s obvious from the first touch.”_

_**Soulmate Search. From the first look to the first touch.** _

Serena flicked the TV off with a derisory snort. “Absolute poppycock,” she exclaimed.

A grunt was her only immediate response. Bernie turned a page in The Guardian and chewed listlessly on a piece of toast. “I don’t know why you let yourself get worked up about it all, babe.”

Serena bristled. _Babe_. How many times did she have to repeat how much she hated that pet name? She wasn’t an American teenager. She wasn’t even a British teenager. She was a grown woman, a professional, the clinical lead of a busy hospital ward. Why the hell couldn’t Bernie remember to say darling or sweetheart or _her flipping name_ instead of that juvenile sobriquet?

“But honestly,” Serena continued after taking several deep breaths, choosing to ignore the annoyance this time. “They should ban adverts like that. _It’s obvious from the first touch._ Absolute balls. I mean, did _you_ feel like that when we met? Did your blood sing with desire for me? Were there fireworks going off under your skin?”

Bernie pretended to think for a moment. “Hmm. You know, I don’t recall.”

Serena rolled her eyes. “My point exactly.”

A smile twitched at Bernie’s lips, though it was sometimes hard to tell what he was feeling these days through the beard he’d suddenly decided to grow last month. “What’s on your agenda for today then?” he said, folding up his newspaper at last.

“Oh, that new consultant’s starting. The one from the army that Henrik’s decided would be a perfect fit for AAU.”

For a second and a half, she considered asking him what his day was likely to have in store. But what was the point? All she’d be likely to get was a shrug. And it wasn’t like the Holby public library was a hotbed of excitement.

Instead of asking, she hopped off her stool at the breakfast bar and leaned down to peck Bernie briefly on the lips. His new beard irritated her skin, and his lips were - as always - just a little too wet. Serena avoided a twinge of distaste showing on her face with practised ease.

Sometimes her lack of real attraction to Bernie kept her awake at night. He was her soulmate, wasn’t he? It said so on her shoulder. Her name was on his ankle. They were supposed to be together - they’d agreed. It had taken them long enough to find each other, both over fifty when their paths finally crossed. Old enough not to believe the romantic exaggerations the media hyped up every day.

No, Serena thought, shaking her head firmly as she climbed into her car. This was fine. Perfectly adequate. Good enough was good enough, after all.

She tuned her radio to Classic FM, and on the way to the hospital she heard a radio advert for Soulmate Search three times.

***

The new consultant was fifteen minutes late and Serena was irritated. Bad enough she’d had this new doctor forced on her, but the bloody woman couldn’t even be bothered to turn up on time. She squirted sanitiser into her hands, rubbed it in, then grabbed the next patient’s chart. The bloods she’d ordered earlier that morning had come back and - as she’d suspected - she’d have to whip the chap’s appendix out.

“Lou,” she called absently over her shoulder. “Book theatre one for an emergency appendectomy please.”

“Mind if I scrub in?”

She didn’t know the voice, but her body reacted to it anyway. A thrill danced down her spine and she turned sharply, a question dying on her lips as she took in the woman before her.

 _Beautiful,_ was the first word that her brain presented, and then it ducked out of the situation, leaving her heart and various other organs in charge. Blood surged through her veins like it was late for an appointment. Her cheeks were suddenly very warm and she could only pray she wasn’t blushing.

“You must be Berenice Wolfe,” she said aloud. _Oh God. Oh no. Oh shit, shit, shit,_ her mind contributed silently.

She was in scrubs - an outfit that made most people look like a sack of potatoes. Berenice Wolfe was clearly not most people. Serena’s eyes raked across her face, drinking in her fine cheekbones, the crow’s feet round her eyes and mouth, her messy blonde hair falling round her ears in waves. 

“Uh, yes,” Berenice said, then immediately cleared her throat. “Ah...sorry I was late. I stopped for a coffee at the place downstairs and ended up having to give someone an emergency tracheotomy with a penknife and a biro.” 

Serena blinked, then raised an eyebrow. “You do realise we’re not in the Somme now?”

“Of course. Doubt there were many biros on the battlefield. I feel I’ve been quite modern.”

Serena barked out a laugh and held out her hand. “Glad to meet you,” she said, and then Berenice Wolfe’s fingers slid over her palm and Serena’s heart exploded.

Her blood sang with desire. Fireworks burst under skin. It was something like dying and also something like being more alive than she’d ever felt.

She dropped Berenice’s hand and reached instinctively for the name on her shoulder. If she’d been capable of noticing anything outside herself she might have seen the other woman’s fingers curving round her own hip. But she didn’t notice.

“Ms Campbell?”

Serena jumped, tearing her eyes from the new consultant’s face and turning to find Lou hovering nervously a few feet away, her eyes flicking from one doctor to the other like she wasn’t quite sure what she was seeing. “Yes Lou?”

“Theatre’s ready.”

Serena blinked. Oh. The appendectomy. Right. “Lovely. Thanks, Lou. Get the patient prepped, will you?” She turned to Berenice. “Still want to scrub in?”

They worked _perfectly_ together. Hands moved in concert. Where one pushed, the other pulled. They seemed to know what the other needed without words needing to be exchanged.

“Like watching a ballet, you two,” the anaesthetist said. Serena just about managed a strangled laugh and was glad she could perform an appendectomy in her sleep.

When the surgery was over, they found themselves alone together in the scrub room, washing their hands a little more slowly than either would normally do. Almost like they were looking for excuses to stay in the same room. Though why that would be was a mystery, of course.

“We, uh...seem to work well together,” Serena said, chancing a quick glance at her companion.

“Uh...yes. Yes we do.”

“Well,” Serena continued. “Good. That’s good. I will admit I wasn’t too happy when Henrik parachuted a stranger onto my ward, but I think we’ll make a very good team, Ms Wolfe. Or can I call you Berenice?”

The other woman turned to face her. “Actually...I’ve always hated Berenice. Call me Bernie.”

A ton of bricks fell on Serena’s head. 

“B-Bernie?” she stammered.

Bernie nodded. “And you’re...Serena, right?”

Serena turned off the tap. Patted her wet hands against a towel. Turned to face Bernie.

They both lunged towards each other at the same time.

It was everything every romance novel, TV show and advert had ever said it would be. Serena’s whole being felt like one large, throbbing mass of hormones. Bernie’s body was hot against hers as they pressed together, curves meeting and melting together like they were trying to climb into each other’s skin.

“Oh God,” Serena moaned between, during and through kisses. “Shit. I’m an idiot.”

“No, I’m an idiot,” Bernie replied, trailing kisses over her jaw, running her fingers through Serena’s hair, knocking her scrub cap to the ground. “I thought it was all crap. All that soulmate stuff. Hyped up.”

Serena started to say she’d thought the very same thing, but before she could get the words out Bernie’s tongue was in her mouth. She groaned instead, her hands sliding over Bernie’s shoulders and down her back as they kissed and kissed and breathed and kissed again like they were trying to make up for lost time. 

“Where?” Bernie managed to gasp when their latest kiss broke. 

“Here,” Serena replied breathily, understanding what Bernie meant without words. She pulled her scrub top down over her shoulder, revealing Bernie’s name on her skin in flowing navy blue script. Bernie raised a trembling hand, curving her fingers round Serena’s shoulder before leaning down and tenderly tracing each letter with her lips. Serena shivered.

“And you?” she murmured, her hands in Bernie’s hair. “Where…?”

Bernie’s hands dropped to her waistband and she pulled slightly, revealing Serena’s name curving round her hipbone. The word was wine red and Bernie shuddered when Serena touched it with gentle fingers. “S-Serena…” she whispered.

Serena looked up. Bernie’s brown eyes were impossibly soft, her pupils wide, cheeks flushed. Eyes inexorably drawn to her lips, Serena couldn’t help but lean forward and capture them again. It was different this time. Tender, so pleasurable it was almost painful, like gently pressing on a fading bruise. The sensation was entirely new: a dull ache in her heart, butterflies dancing madly in her stomach, every hair on the back of her neck standing to attention.

Only the loud approach of the next surgical team in the corridor made them break apart.

“Let’s go to my office,” Serena said breathlessly when they made it into the hallway, but Bernie shook her head.

“I need to do something first. Before this goes any further.”

Blood rushed instantly south as Serena’s mind supplied an image of what _further_ might be like. “Oh?” she choked out, hoping she didn’t sound like a teenage boy whose voice had just broken.

Bernie smiled ruefully. “Yeah. I’ve, uh...got a girlfriend. Who I need to break up with.”

Serena’s cheeks coloured. “Oh. Yes...uh, I need to break up with my boyfriend.” She shook her head. “He’s called Bernard. Bernie. I uh...well, I thought...thought wrong. Obviously.”

To her surprise, Bernie laughed. It was like a goose had got loose in the hospital, and Serena hadn’t thought it was possible to feel love with this level of intensity. Turned out that was the difference between the right soulmate and the wrong one.

“My girlfriend,” Bernie explained after a moment. “She’s called Serena.” Her lips curled into a lopsided grin. “I thought wrong too.”

Idiots, the pair of them. But from that day on, and for the rest of their lives, they were each other’s idiots.


End file.
